


You Can Fly Anything

by SassySnowperson



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Depression, Fix-It, Healing, Hopeful Ending, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Multi, POV Second Person, Poe Dameron Character Study, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassySnowperson/pseuds/SassySnowperson
Summary: You are Poe Dameron, a pilot in the New Republic Defense Fleet.There are atrocities happening in the galaxy. Everyone sees it. The problem is, it's always happening somewhereelse.The First Order is rising somewhereelse, and you want to fly in and stop them. But the New Republic says they don't have jurisdiction, the New Republic says they can't prove the violations, the New Republic refuses to act.You obey. You are complicit.You meet Leia Organa.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	You Can Fly Anything

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal thanks to [rosepetalfall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetalfall) for betaing the fic, and for being very supportive as I experienced a greater than usual amount of fic-related angst. Thanks, friend. More thanks go to any writing friend I described this fic to and who made encouraging noises in return. You all make all the difference. 
> 
> And a huge shout-out to N.K. Jemisin and her [Broken Earth Trilogy](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/38496769-the-broken-earth-trilogy) for showing me what the second person POV could do in the hands of a talented author. I don't pretend to have her skill, but I'm inspired by her mastery.

You are Poe Dameron. You are brave, you are good, and you save people. You can fly _anything_. 

You're carrying on your mother's legacy. You'd rather have her, but the universe decided you couldn't, so you do the next best thing, and try to be someone she'd be proud of. You enlist in the New Republic Defense Fleet, and they are happy to have you. 

Those first few years, you believe it really is a defense fleet. You believe that the galaxy is a safe place, and you and your fellow pilots help keep it that way. You are aware, of course, that there are many, many places where life is not as kind as yours has been, but you honestly believe that you are making it kinder. You believe in heroes, and you desperately want to become one. 

You are one hell of a pilot, and you're given command. You have a squad who looks up to you. That you are responsible for. 

Not all of them live. 

That's the way it goes sometimes, when you're a soldier. Your father wishes you had stayed on the farm, and never had to know what it's like to bury your squadmates. But you didn't stay, and you do know. You make a promise to yourself. Their deaths will be worth it. And someday, when your death comes too, that will be worth it as well. 

The New Republic keeps getting in the way of your promise. There are atrocities happening in the galaxy. Everyone sees it. The problem is, it's always happening somewhere _else._ The First Order is rising somewhere _else_ , and you want to fly in and stop them. But the New Republic says they don't have jurisdiction, the New Republic says they can't prove the violations, the New Republic refuses to act. 

You obey. You are complicit. 

You meet Leia Organa. 

Technically, you've met her before; she knew your parents. She would come to visit, and after a quick hello your dad would take you away to play. You'd look up from your toy A-Wing and see, through the windows of your house, your mom and Leia laughing on your back porch, unbothered by the thick wet heat of the summer night. 

But that time was a long time ago. Now, instead of knowing her by her laugh, you know her by her anger. She shares your palpable, tangible rage that innocents die while the New Republic does nothing. Leia leaves the Senate in a fit of conscience and grand drama. She goes to start the Resistance. She gives up her safety for the chance to make a difference. 

She asks you to do the same. You say yes. You desert. 

You do this because you share her rage. Mostly. In the back of your mind, there's still that memory of your mother and murmured conversation drifting in through open windows. You wonder how much of your decision comes from this: your mother trusted Leia Organa, and you think she'd be proud.

You're not so sure she'd approve of Leia's plan for you. She asks you to take your newly tarnished reputation and go to Kijimi, where the First Order is stealing children. It won't be too remarked-upon if a deserting pilot finds work as a spice-runner. A criminal will be overlooked. A criminal can learn things.

So, for a time, you're a criminal. You sell drugs. For a higher cause, for a higher purpose, but still, you sell drugs. You wonder, to yourself, why this is harder than killing people for that same higher cause. You've done that too, after all. You find the answer quickly, in the hollowed cheeks and desperate fingers of the spice-addicted. There's a difference between killing combatants and hurting civilians. 

You find small moments of solace. Alcohol, consumption carefully measured so you don't spill any secrets. Sex, connection carefully moderated for the same reason. You smile and pretend, and you find a real friendship with the spice-runners despite the terrible situation. Zorii, the fearless leader, tough and ruthless and ready with a laugh. Babu, your tech, bright and cheerful and completely unphased by Kijimi's grim atmosphere. And the others, Miop and Riff and the twins and…it's almost like having a squadron again, if you could ignore the work that you're doing. 

But you can't. So you grit your teeth and push through until finally, you have the information you need. You leave quickly, and you try not to feel too bad that, once again, you have deserted people that trusted you. You don't like the spice-runner's work, but you like them. 

(You've always had a soft spot for good people in bad situations. You've got such a big heart. No matter how bad things get, you can look at someone and see how incredible they are. It's a real gift.)

You are Poe Dameron. You can fly anything. You are brave, and you do your best to save people. 

You're not so sure you're good anymore. (You're wrong.) 

You find your way to the Resistance, and it's the cause you don't leave. You pour your life into it, year after precious year well-spent in their ranks. You are promoted, and promoted again, you are trusted, and trusted again. You save so many people. Including some of those kids, the ones you learned about from Kijimi. You get them free, you make them safe. 

There are so many others you don't save. 

(Poe, you've gotta figure out how to forgive yourself for that. It's not your fault that nobody knew how many other kids were taken, too.)

The First Order grows stronger and stronger, and the Resistance does not. The situation goes from distressing to disastrous. General Organa makes the call. The galaxy needs its Jedi. You need to go find Luke.

Part-pilot, part-spy, you skulk through dangerous places and try to find someone who desperately wants to stay lost. You follow a lead, and it takes you to an old man in the middle of a desert, a mystical place hidden in the galaxy's dark corners. You sit in a hut and smile as the man calls your General a princess. She doesn't let many people call her by that title, these days. You don't think she'd mind that this old mystic does, though.

Certainly not when he has a map to Luke Skywalker. You smile and chat, you take it, you leave. 

And the First Order comes. 

You know the right thing to do is to leave with the intel, so you try. But your ship is struck and it dies, and there is nothing left to do but to fight. You're relieved, honestly. You've never been one to run away when there are people that need saving. You send BB-8 to save the map, you take a blaster rifle and find a ridge. 

You kill some troopers. It does not save the villagers. You are captured, and forced to your knees. And up walks Kylo Ren, the jagged wound in the Force where Ben Solo once stood. Not that you sense this, that's never been your skill, but you heard General Organa spit the words once in a bitter argument with Han. They stuck with you.

You are too angry to be afraid. This boy, this man, he is the reason your General cries softly in her office when she thinks no one can hear. She still loves him, and it infuriates you. Not that she loves him, but that anyone could be so loved by her and still turn into this. So you turn your chin up, and you snark.

It's always been a powerful weapon of yours, your snark. It makes people angry, and angry people do stupid things.

Sadly, Kylo Ren isn't feeling particularly prone to idiocy this day. He orders you onto the ship. Behind you, horrible noises start. The whine of blasters charging, the bark of their discharge, the screams of the villagers falling. You struggle against your captors, you want to get away, but you fail. There is no escaping, there is no saving, this time. 

(I'm so sorry, Poe. I wish we could have saved them.)

You are tortured. It isn't the first time. Fighting in Resistance has taken many innocences from you, and this one was stolen a long time ago. Now, you know how to handle it. People hurt you, and you do not talk. It is horrible...and ultimately irrelevant, in the face of what happens next.

Kylo Ren walks back into the room. You look at him, and wonder if you can talk him into killing you. You think you've got a decent shot. You don't want to die but you've always understood your life is currency, and all you had ever hoped for was that it would be spent well. And now, trapped on a ship with no rescue coming, it looks like the creds have all run out. So, this is what you've got left, the chance to die with your secrets safe. You know enough of this man to know he has his petty rages.

You summon your famous snark.

And Kylo Ren reaches into your mind.

He is there, there in all the places you thought were safe. He rifles through your memories, finds your sacred thoughts of the General, of your squad, of your father. He runs his rough presence over them, sullying them, and discarding them without a care to how precious they are. He presses on.

He finds your memory of your mother, sitting next to his. He is furious, he tears at it, ripping it up in your mind. 

You can't remember your mother's face. 

__You can't remember her face._ _

But the monster in the black mask doesn't care, he just keeps tearing, tears apart the core of who you are. You are so shaken, you barely notice when he finds the information he is looking for. You are too busy trying to piece together the tatters of your mind. 

You realize soon, when he taunts you with it. BB-8 flashes in your mind, and with paralyzing terror, you realize what you've done. Kylo loves your fear. He lingers for a little longer, running his presence smugly over thoughts and dreams and secrets he does not need. He does it just because he can, and because you can't stop him.

He sweeps out of the room, and you still can't move. You are tight with pain, you don't know how to put yourself back together again. 

A guard comes in, he lets you off the chair. You barely notice. 

__You can't remember her face._ _

Your mother had curly hair. If you let yours grow out, it'd probably look like hers. She had a laugh like a symphony still tuning, loud and rough and still beautiful. She isn't gone from your mind, but she's scattered into fragments, and how can you care about the rough hands dragging you out of the chair when you are chasing after torn-up scraps of memory, fluttering away from your frantic grasping. 

Who are you? __Who are you?__

In the end, it is the trooper who anchors you, drags you back to reality, announcing that he’s there to save you, and can you fly a TIE fighter? 

You are Poe Dameron. You can fly anything. 

But why does he want to help you? 

Because's running too. And he needs a pilot. 

Perfect. 

You are Poe Dameron. You can fly anything. You may not be good (you are), and you know you're not brave (you're wrong), but in your bones you still do your best to save people. 

You share a smile with him, and even though you don't know it, you look like hope. You are aware, though, that whatever sort of vision of heroism you present is somewhat diminished when you forgot to release the parking cables. It's fine, though. You fly, and you are free. 

You save him. And, incidentally, yourself in the process. 

(Thank you.)

Then you nearly die in the desert, which is, after everything, pretty anticlimactic. You wake up and everything is gone, your new friend is gone, your stolen TIE fighter is gone. The only company you have is the specter of a dark presence in your mind, laughing as it tears through your memories. 

There is a long moment when you consider lying down and letting the sun take you. But that has never been who you are, and you refuse to let Kylo Ren have that part of you, too. You do not lie down. You pick a direction and move. 

You walk until you almost die. You don't die. You make it off Jakku. 

For a little while, everything is clear. Awful, with all the odds stacked against you, but clear. You need to get to Black One, so you do. You need to get to the Resistance, so you do. You report in to the General, who gives you a mission: go to Takodana, fight the First Order. 

Fight the First Order. Your mind may be tattered patchwork, but that's something you still know how to do. You go to Takodana, and do it spectacularly well. 

You fly, you win, and as a reward, the universe gives you Finn back. You decide to be generous in turn, and gift him your jacket. It looks good on him, more natural than the trooper white. That never suited him, you decide. 

He says he needs your help, that his friend Rey—you're impressed at how fast this guy makes friends—is trapped. And he says he can stop Starkiller. 

Flying fast, saving people, and sticking it to the First Order while you do it. Sounds like a good day to you. You rush in, you tell the General, and you all make a plan. You don't tell her what Kylo Ren did. You're all busy, there isn't time. Besides, it isn't her problem. You'll figure it out. 

You keep moving. 

You try not to think too much, but even in the mad rush of the planning, the new truth of the universe slowly filters in. Hosnia, the shining capital of the New Republic, is gone. How does the galaxy recover from that? 

You don't know. But you know this: you can stop the thing that killed it. 

You fly against Starkiller. You are reckless and skilled—your natural state of being, these days. You plunge through trenches and soar into a reactor, tearing the thing apart from the inside. You survive, and join the ranks of Luke Skywalker, Wedge Antilles, Lando Calrissian, and Nien Nunb. There is a thing that can kill planets, and you have killed it. 

You feel like this would have filled you with satisfaction, once. But while you're happy and proud, everything is numbed. You exchange hugs, kiss people's cheeks, congratulate each of your pilots that survived, and try not to think about the ones that didn't. It was a good day, you did good work, you pulled the galaxy back from the brink of destruction. You believe this is true in your bones, but it's not translating to emotion. Your joy feels submerged—present but muffled, unable to get to the surface. 

As soon as you can you make your excuses and leave. You want to go find Finn in the medbay, but you know that Rey is headed there, and you can't handle her right now. Not since you heard that she was in the same room you were and she got herself free. She feels like success and you feel like failure, and you feel like Finn doesn't need failure in his life right now. 

You find a quiet berth, and you try to get some sleep. 

It doesn't really go well. You manage not to scream when you wake up, but that's only because you bite down on your fist hard enough to make it bleed. You bandage the wound quietly—Kalonia's got more than enough on her plate, and you don't need anyone questioning why exactly you got chompy. 

You give up on sleep, and instead you get some caf and get to work. If you keep pushing, keep moving, the rest will fall into line. 

There is plenty of work. The cost of your victory is exposure. You need to leave D'Qar and leave fast. The evacuation is rushed and chaotic, desperate to get out before the First Order's arrival. 

The Resistance doesn't manage it. The dreadnaught comes. While other people scramble to get off base, you scramble for a plan. That thing is a fleet killer, and you have to kill it. So you throw together a hasty strategy. You and Black One can get close, take out the cannons. Then the rest of the light fighters keep the First Order TIEs off the bombers, who come in and destroy the thing. It'll work. You know it will. The general gives the authorization, and you get out there to kill that thing. 

Your plan works spectacularly on one front: the dreadnaught is distracted long enough to successfully cover the evacuation. That's not really a source of satisfaction, though. This is your chance to kill a dreadnaught. If you leave it, it'll just show up to hurt the Resistance later. 

Your general orders your retreat. 

Your father would have followed orders. He's good at that, your dad, loyal to a fault. But your mother…she…she… _you can't remember her face_. Your father was your life's foundation and your mother your life's direction. But now you don't remember her, and your navigation data is fluctuating wildly. 

You are Poe Dameron and you save people. In the absence of anything else, you cling to that. 

You disregard General Organa's orders. Your team has a shot and you have to take it. It works. You lose so many good people and it hurts, but you kill the dreadnought. You did it. 

General Organa doesn't see things the same way. She demotes you. 

And then, the First Order does the impossible, and tracks you through hyperspace. You look at General Organa, and she looks at you, and you both know that if you hadn't eliminated the dreadnaught, the whole fleet would be lost. 

You have ignored her orders, decimated the Resistance's fighter squadron, and saved the fleet. Where does that leave you, in the complicated equation of war and how it's won? It doesn't matter right now. You ask her permission to fly, and she gives it. The two of you can figure out the rest after that. 

Except you don't. Your ship is destroyed. Your general is nearly destroyed. She lays there, unconscious, and the fleet is turned over the Vice-Admiral Holdo. 

Who freezes you out. Orders you to stand down. 

She doesn't understand, she doesn't know, there is so much to be done and you can't _stop_. If you stop you might…

The dark yawn of the unknown presses at the edges of your mind; there is an abyss open between your synapses that calls to you when everything goes quiet. You might… 

It doesn't matter. You scramble, you keep moving. With or without official approval. Finn—who woke up, the one beautiful thing in this nightmare—and his new friend Rose have a plan: get the codes, get on the ship, disable the hyperspace tracker. You help them do it. It may not be the sort of choice a good man would make, but you gave up on being good a long time ago. It should work. It should save people. 

It doesn't. 

They try, they try, and they go silent. The Vice-Admiral finds out and wants to pull the plug on the mission. So instead, you pull the plug on her command. You mutiny. You will give Finn and Rose the time they need to disable the tracker. You will see this plan through. 

You have lost too many people for it to have all been for nothing. 

Everything falls apart. Finn and Rose are captured. The Vice-Admiral's people are knocking down the door. The door gets pried open and there—there stands General Organa awake, alive, vital in a way her sleeping self never was. 

You think, oh good, maybe this won't all be for nothing after all. If anyone can pull victory from the ashes, it's your General. 

And then she shoots you. It doesn't really get better from there. 

Vice-Admiral Holdo dies a hero's death, and you are filled with a sense that it should have been you instead. Transports are picked off, one by one, and there is nothing you can do. You're not even flying the transport you're on. There is nothing here under your control, nothing you can do to make this right. Bitter, choking helplessness rises in you, and it is all you know. 

The Resistance is decimated, but some of you live. You find a base, you get comms on, and you scream for help. No one comes. General Organa sits in quiet despair, thinking the galaxy has lost hope.

That is the worst of it. Every part of yourself unravels, then. You are not brave, you are not good, and you have not saved anyone. 

(You're wrong! You are still so, so wrong about that, I promise.) 

You are barely holding yourself together, but you need to keep moving. You need to find some way to give General Organa hope. You hold what's left of her people together until— 

Until Luke shows up, and takes on Kylo Ren, like you couldn't. 

Until Rey is there. A miracle, lifting rocks with her mind, the hero who gets you all safely off of Crait. Like you couldn't. 

You always wanted to be a hero, but here, now, it's so painfully obvious you aren't. And that's for the best, maybe. You focus on holding things together. You keep moving. 

The rebuilding that comes next is…it's better. Though you suppose that anything that isn't death would be. There are adventures to be had, and maybe your heart isn't quite in them, they are still something to do. Something to hang on to while your mind still feels like the sharp-edged fragments of a fallen glass—useless and dangerous. 

There is nothing left of your internal passion. The spark inside you that wanted to be your mother's son—

 _You still can't remember her face._

—still knows that you've failed. Still, you can't stop. If you stop, the void torn open by Kylo Ren will take you. But you don't trust yourself, either. So you take orders, you move in the direction you're pointed. And you're effective. You've developed a habit of efficacy, at least, and it isn't so easily shaken. 

You spend a lot of time with Finn. It's easier to believe in Finn than yourself. It's easy with Finn. He makes you laugh. He almost even makes you hope. 

You remember how to be around other people. How to have a friend, and not just a subordinate. You joke with him. You touch him.

You touch him so much! Always with a jostling shoulder or a hug or a squeeze of his shoulder! But it never goes further than that, you never, Poe why didn't you ever— 

_Getting a little off track there._

I...yeah, sorry. I just—I have questions!

_No, you've got one question, and this isn't the time or place. Come on, you've been at this for hours, go eat._

I can't just leave him.

_I'll take over for a bit. Go._

Are you sure you—

_We've practiced this. I know I have to be careful. And I will be. Trust me, and bring me back some of that yellow cake, got it?_

I…yeah, sure. Thanks.

_You're welcome._

_...there we go. Sorry about that, he was running on fumes and it got away from him._

_Where were we?_

_Right. There is Finn, and he makes things easier for you._

_There is Rey, and she makes things harder. It's not that you dislike her, it's that she is everything you failed to be. She sat in the same chair that ripped out your mind and apparently it unlocked hers. She's General Organa's new protege and trained to be the hero you couldn't be._

_Finn likes her, and you like her, so you try. You learn that you can fight with her—unlike so many of your subordinates she is not afraid of your anger, and lights up at a friendly spat. Your fighting turns to teasing, to laughter. You are genuinely friends, and it makes you happy to see how much Finn enjoys her company._

_(You and I both know that's another part of the reason the hugging never went any further. We're going to have to talk about that. Eventually. Not now, obviously.)_

_Still. You cannot help but try to encourage her away from becoming anything like the specter that haunts your nightmares. You ask her to fly with you, to fight with you, to stop reaching for the ethereal and bind herself to this reality._

_It doesn't work, so there is always distance between you. Always something sharp. It makes Finn sad._

_But she understands. She is trying to swim in the same ocean you are drowning in. She is managing, barely, but she only knows how to keep herself afloat. She wants to reach out, but she knows she'd drag you down. The tides are pulling you in different directions. She isn't hurt by your distance. She understands._

_Please believe that, Poe._

Cake deliver—oh, it's serious in here. Okay. Should I leave? Wait, are you—did you…

 _No, you've got perfect timing_. _I just finished telling...part of the story you wouldn't have told right._

Which is?

_Me. You like me too much to talk about me right. Is your crisis over?_

It wasn't a crisis! It was just—never mind. Yeah, I'm good. Do you need—?

_Later. Focus on Poe now. I think we're ready to pick up with the Emperor's transmission._

I—yeah, okay. Are you sure you're…

_Worry less about me, and more about the unconscious guy. Nice talking with you, Poe._

I...okay. Sure. There she goes. 

I hope she wasn't too…you know. She's incredible, but way too hard on herself. But, um, not the point. Sorry. Back to you.

In the rebuilding, you start to rebuild yourself too. You start to think it might be okay. Maybe in the quiet moments you can put your mind back together. Maybe you will even find a way to the words that would let someone else know how much your mind is still hunted, haunted. 

But then it turns out that the Emperor is alive and there are, once again, bigger things to worry about. 

As you understand what's going on, your heart sinks to realize that the whole thing is, bluntly, Force Nonsense. An epic battle between good and evil. You watch Rey become more and more mysterious, more and more dangerous. You watch Finn fight to stay next to her, to show how he understands her. He succeeds more often than he fails. He's reaching towards her and she's reaching back and you, once again, are on the sidelines.

But you can still fly. So you do. 

You fly right into your past, into the people you loved and left a lifetime ago, looking for information on missing children. Something about Kijimi makes you realize how far you've fallen, since those early days. When you were on Kijimi you thought you had become as jaded as it was possible to be. Now, that thought makes you want to laugh. What a little idealist you were. And yet, you can't help but reach for that old comfort you once built here, try to see if there's anything left of the temporary home you once made here. 

Zorrii, your old boss, your old lover, says no. She always was smarter than you. Still, you find with her a place to share some of your fears, and somehow, when she responds she finds your hope. For one moment, you're seen. It means more than you can say. 

(I—I'm so sorry. I missed it. I didn't see you at all. I was too busy teasing you for your dumb criminal skills. I know we were all dealing with a lot, but I still can't believe how much I missed. I'm sorry.) 

You hold on to that hope as you get pulled deeper into the mystery. You infiltrate a First Order ship to save Chewbaca, and it's almost fun, it's almost an adventure, and then you watch Rey rifle through someone's mind, just like—like—

Your thoughts dissolve into panicked static. You make a dumb joke to cover how scared you are. 

And then she runs off, and you get captured. Not by Kylo. By ordinary men with ordinary blasters who are going to give you an ordinary death. You run your mouth to try to stop it, but honestly, it wouldn't be the worst way to go. 

It turns out Armitage Hux is a traitor, though, and isn't that a surprise? Thank the Force for backstabbing petty revenge. You wonder if he remembers that you called him General Hugs, once upon a time. It's not the time to bring it up, but you hope he does. That thought brings you some joy. 

You get free, and it turns out the strange blade covered in a forbidden language is pointing Rey toward Endor. You really wish you had a better plan. You hate how mystical this one is. But you don't, and you still don't trust yourself, so you follow the instructions written on a knife. 

Staring at the wreckage of the Death Star across the turbulent ocean is the first thing in this whole adventure that makes sense. That was evil, and your parents helped destroy it. Your mother was in the sky, while your father was on the ground, and they brought it down. You still can't remember her face, but you are following your mother's plasmatrail, the way you always intended. 

You will go to the wreck in the morning, when the waves have calmed from murderous to just dangerous. That's the plan. You think it's a good plan. Rey, who apparently thinks differently, decides that certain death doesn't apply to her and sets off anyway. Finn, who should at least back you up that Rey is being reckless, does not. Instead, he says that he understands Rey, and so does Leia. 

He draws the line, places himself, Rey, and Leia on one side, and you firmly on the other. 

"Well, I'm not Leia," you say. 

"That's for damn sure," he replies. 

It's a good thing you're here, grounded in the wreckage of your mother's victory. Otherwise, those words would have broken you entirely. They're still devastating. But there has been so much erosion of yourself, what is this one more piece? 

You have failed to become your mother. You have failed to become a hero. Of course you're not like Leia. Of course the universe sees it. 

You are Poe Dameron. You are not brave, you are not good, you do not save people. 

(I shouldn't have said it. I was wrong, Poe. I was _wrong._ And, about this, so are you.) 

You can still fly, though. You just have to keep moving. It's all you can do. 

Rey leaves you behind, and so you leave too—back to base, with no way forward. You'll need to find something. You'll speak with General Organa. She'll know what to do next. 

She's dead. 

She shouldn't be. She was the most alive person you ever knew, and you've known people full to bursting with life. But the answer doesn't change. She's dead, and she's left you in charge. 

But you are no Leia Organa, and everyone knows it. They call you general anyway. 

You panic. There's no other word for it, no other way to describe it. The galaxy is in shambles, and it's up to you to save it. But you're in shambles too. The future yawns in front of you, hopeless and doomed. You don't see a path forward. 

You speak, half to her, half to the mother whose face was stolen from you, and tell them you don't know what to do. Neither of them answer. 

But Lando is there, and he does. He tells you it wasn't about skill, or having a plan. It was about the people around you. It's something. It's a way forward. 

Finn. He's been chasing Rey this whole time, but he's been there for you too. He's been your safest place. The sharp-glass shards of your memories are dulled around him. Around him you almost believe that fragments of your mind might come together in a mosaic—not restored, but still beautiful. This is too dire a situation to hold onto that hope, but you still believe in this: you are better when you are not alone. You find Finn, you ask him to lead, too. 

He takes it, and offers back something else—that Rey hasn't abandoned the cause after all, that she's sent coordinates to… 

A planet full of ships that blow up planets. 

You decide that you're not really impressed with Sith ingenuity. Every problem they have, it seems like developing a new and terrifying way to blow up planets is their only solution. You briefly fantasize that maybe, if they had been forced to take your Fleet Academy class on Strategic Force and Problem Solving, the galaxy would be in a better place. 

Eh, they probably would have just blown up the class, too.

You know this isn't the most helpful thing to be thinking about, right now. But the problem is so...big, so abstract, there's no way to think about it. You have heard that just one of those ships destroyed Kijimi. But even that one loss is too big—you can't grab the fact that Kijimi's gone. 

You'll never see Zorii's slow smile again, never hear the delighted hitch of her breathing against your ear as you pour some speed onto the bike you share. There. That seems to be a loss small enough that you can grab it.

The battle that follows is depressingly familiar. Too many enemies, too few friendlies, and no hope aside from what you can speak into the comm. But still. You have to keep moving. Keep flying. Keep trying. 

But you lose and you lose and you lose, and that's the story of your life, it feels like. Eventually, even your ability to pretend goes away, and, finally honest, what's pulled out of you is an apology. I'm sorry, I thought we could. I'm sorry, I got you killed. 

And then, a miracle. 

A ship. 

Another. 

Ten.

A thousand. 

Countless. 

The galaxy shows up. Freedom, hope, good, glory: all of Leia's vision has found its home in people's hearts and they have come. In fighters and freighters and junky vacation ships, no one ship strong by itself but incredible in force. 

It’s good, but like the destroyer fleet was too big and bad, this is too big and good. Your mind doesn’t know how to process it. And then, over the comms, comes Zorii's rich laugh, the one you'd never thought you'd hear again. She's here. She's alive. That's a small enough wonder that it finally sinks in. 

You breathe. You did it. You held together long enough. You can stop. 

Well, no. Not yet. There is still a battle to win. 

And it gets scary, but you win it. Whatever Rey does down there works, whatever Finn does on the ship works, for once everything works. 

You go back to base, you step out into the jungle, and everything is wild. Overwhelmingly wild. People are screaming, kissing, hugging. There is joy, there is so much joy. And there is no evil chasing them, not now.

The scene reminds you of your mother's stories, the ones where— 

You can't remember. That's been happening more and more. You push it to the side, like you always do. It's not important now. Now is a time for joy. You can ignore the emptiness inside you. There's definitely no need to make it anyone else's problem. 

You see Zorii, and something real sparks inside you. Her presence is still the key that lets you understand—with your mind if not with your heart—how amazing things are. You can't help but tilt your head, see if she wants to participate in a more…tangible celebration. She shakes her head and walks away. 

Still smarter than you. Good to know. 

And then there's Finn, stepping off his shuttle, looking like a miracle, and you run to him and bury your head in his neck. There is no moment of question like there was with Zorii, no hesitation, because this is Finn. You might be eroded, but he's steady. You could cry. You could kiss him. You hold him and don't let go. 

(And, look, I know this isn't the point but after you wake up again and get done accepting my apology, we are going to talk about why you didn't just kiss me then. There was so much kissing! It would have fit right in.)

 _It might have something to do with the fact that I came up right after that._

Gha! Where did you come from? 

_The kitchen. I finished my cake_. 

You know, I was on-topic the rest of the time. You just have a really amazing sense of when I'm getting off-track. Good timing. Bad timing? 

_Come on, you're getting distracted again. Keep going. You hold him and don't let go. And then Rey comes up next to you both, and wraps you both up too. And she is here, whole. Whatever the strange road she walked, it ended here, with her body solid next to yours and her arms around you and Finn both. It feels right. You hold them, and you don't let go for a long, long time._

_Eventually you're pulled away, you and Finn need to be general-y._

General-y. 

_I'm not a general. I don't know the words for the general things._

I—you know that…you just sit there and let me take over again. 

_Good call._

Responsibility calls, even in the wild celebration. You and Finn and Rey are all pulled in different directions. You point Finn at Connix, and ask the two of them to solve the logistics questions of who can and can't land on base. You take the complicated stack of comms from the New Republic government for yourself. 

It's not so much a government, after the Hosnia system exploded, as it is a shared aspiration. But that's what all governments are, when you come down to it, and you're pretty sure that treating them with respect is the key to actually restoring a functioning state. 

Your resolve to do that is tested almost immediately, as you shuffle through messages that alternate between panicked, demanding, and insulting. You take a breath. You figure 'The Resistance just saved the galaxy again, you bantha-brained sons of mynocks,' is not a diplomatic response. 

You go drag Lando away from the fireside and sit him down with the comms pile and ask him to figure out something to do with it. Lando raises his eyebrows at you, nods, and says, "Yes, sir." 

That feels good and terrible at the same time. You can't shake the feeling you shouldn't be in charge. But you keep finding one more thing that needs doing, and then you find one more person to do it. 

It is sometime after asking Rose to coordinate some maintenance crews to refuel the fighters, just in case, that Maz catches your elbow. 

"You're doing good work, kid. But tonight's your party. You've got the urgent stuff handled. Trust us to look after the rest. Shoo," she says, and shoves you back at the mass of happy people. 

It's not too bad, at first. You find people, you congratulate them. You shake hands and dodge drinks as you work your way through the crowd. You find Finn and Rey, looking intensely at each other, and before you can go hide from them, they catch you, and pull you into their little circle. 

You beg off, and say you need sleep. They laugh and agree and somehow you are pulled into the Falcon, into the pile of pillows and blankets that have turned the captain’s quarters into some sort of nap nest. They pull you down, and you're too tired to resist, even though you never sleep next to Rey if you can help it. It's one of the little moments of distance between the two of you; she brings to mind too readily the figure that stalks your nightmares. 

But Finn's arm across your chest is warm and heavy in the best of ways. Rey's on your other side, and her breath along your neck is a comforting slow metronome. You are so tired, you've been chasing one thing to the next for years. Maybe now you can rest. Maybe. Worth a try. You let yourself sleep.

You wake up screaming. Well, no, you don't actually wake up, you would have stopped yourself if you had woken up. Instead, you are trapped in a nightmare with mechanized voices and pressing Force and you can't move you can't you can't—

Rey tries to help but, um, it doesn't work. And then you wake up— 

_No. Tell it right._

_…_

_Fine, I'll do it._

_You are trapped in your nightmare and there is another presence. It is a pressing presence, a searing sense of Other. It flits around your edges and tries to find its way in. And then it does, slipping through the cracks and it is inside you. Again. Violated. Your mind nearly implodes, shuts down entirely, and it takes what feels like two eternities before you wake up in medbay, hooked to machines._

_You're not able to hide how wrong things have gone inside your head, after that._

_…_

Yeah, so, um, you wake up. Finn is there, and he looks so scared. You open your mouth to say something reassuring, but to your mixed relief and horror, what comes out is the truth. Once you start talking you can't stop. From the tear in your mind where your purpose once was, to the way you can't see your mother's face, it all pours out of you, one after the other. 

And I—and Finn shares in return. That he's part of the problem, that he's got the same talent that ripped you apart. You manage to blurt out that no, it's not him, he's always been your safe place no matter where you ended up. He's not the problem. He never would be. 

Someone clears her throat from across the room. "If that's true, I might have an idea. If, um, is it okay if I come in?" 

It's Rey, looking wan and determined. You don't want her to come in, you want her a couple galaxies away, if you're being honest. She broke into your mind without you asking! But that panicked self-protection lives in your broken spaces, and you're tired of letting that void tell you what to do. 

Rey. You've argued about ship repairs with her. You've shared more meals with her than you can count. You've watched her fight, breathless with amazement at how fast she is, how skilled. You've trusted her strength. You trust it still. You know, at your core, that the night before she saw something was wrong and was trying to make things better. It backfired in the most dramatic way possible, but she's your friend, and that hasn't changed. 

You're not the sort of person that gives up on your friends. You beckon her over, she comes in, and in a move that takes as much courage as anything else you've ever done, you take her hand and squeeze it. 

Rey smiles at you, and she squeezes back. She whispers that she's sorry. You say you forgive her, and are pleased to find you mean it. 

Rey lays out her plan. She doesn't believe that anything is really gone from your mind. Nothing was stolen, it's the connections that were disturbed. Your memories, your mother's face, they're still in there. But you can't find them. What you need us someone to go in—

The conversation is interrupted for five minutes while the medics glare at Rey and try to get your heart rate back down to a reasonable baseline.

Rey tries again, more carefully. You need help reconnecting the broken pieces. With enough time and rest, you might heal on your own. But, she says with a furious look in her eyes, you have spent long enough suffering. 

Not me, she's quick to add. But, if you think it's safe...she gestures over at Finn. According to Rey, he has a knack for empathetic work. Finn isn't so sure about having a knack, but he loves the idea of being able to help. But only if you're okay with it. 

You consider running screaming. You consider telling them you're going to give it five years and see how it goes. Instead, you agree to try. 

Not right away. There's too much to do, first. The Resistance needs to be folded back in to the New Republic. You fight for amnesty for your troops, you fight for retirement packages, you threaten to run for office yourself when the senators drag their heels. That works, to your surprise, and you realize they're scared of you. 

You realize that somehow in the eyes of the galaxy, you're a hero after all. And no matter how laughably ridiculous that is—

(It isn't.)

 _(No, it isn't.)_

—there are people out there that trust and respect you, and would vote these scared malingering politicians out in a second if you asked them to. You smile wide, and start issuing demands instead of making requests.

Negotiations go much better, after that. Intel is consolidated, mop-up is started, relief packages are sent to the hardest struck regions. You and Finn and Rey and Rose and Lando and Connix and all the people who have stood beside you are building peace. That feels good. And this, you think, is a peace that has a chance of enduring the evils that will will rise against it.

You are still not whole, the darkness still gnaws at an empty core near your center. But you aren't hiding it anymore, and that makes more of a difference than you ever dreamed. When you are tired and hopeless you tell someone. You watch holovids with Finn and trade dumb commentary that brings you both to tears laughing. You tinker on the Falcon with Rey and argue about powerflow until both of your hands are smeared with grease and the ship is humming happily. Spending time with both of them helps keep the numbness at bay. And it's building faith for what needs to happen next.

One day, you look up, and you realize all the urgent work is done. The voice inside your head that tells you to keep moving—the only thing that's kept you going in the hardest times—yells at you to find something else to do. You shush it. It's gotten you through the war, but peace has come. You know what comes next. 

You find Finn and Rey, and ask them to help you put yourself back together again. 

And, well, here we are. I really hope this worked.

_It worked._

How do you know?

_Wait a minute. You'll see._

* * *

Poe wakes up slowly. He wakes up to touch, first, he's comfortable, wrapped in warmth. Smell, next, the antiseptic medical center smell that is the same the galaxy over. Hearing adds in some beeping hum of machinery, and a soft hitched breath, next to him. Poe opens his eyes, and the sight of Finn's beautiful, worried face fills his vision. 

"Are you okay? Did it work? Are you—you?" 

Poe blinks.

"Come on, man, say something," Finn orders, a furrow forming between his eyes. 

"Finn," Poe manages to croak. 

Finn nods, and looks hopeful.

Poe is vaguely aware that he should say something else, but he's not sure what. Finn's face starts to fall. "'M okay, I think," Poe tries, because he's not sure exactly what's going on, but he doesn't like seeing Finn sad. 

Another body shifts on Poe's other side. Poe turns to look, and finds Rey, looking cautious, but less worried. "You were in a trance for eight hours. Don't worry if everything is a little slow coming back. Do you remember why we're here?" 

She flinches a little, as she asks, and all of a sudden Poe remembers why. Her presence in his mind was the thing that tipped him over the edge. The thing that made him admit he needed help. 

Help. 

Poe had been falling apart, he remembered that. Kylo Ren had entered his mind and stolen—

His mother's nose was a button, and it wrinkled when she laughed. Her skin was a little lighter than Poe's, her hair a little darker. He has her cheeks, and her eyes, and once when he had caught a holovid of himself laughing, he was struck by how much his smile looked like hers. She sat out with Leia, in the warm Yavin summer, and when she caught sight of him through the window, she winked and waved. 

"I remember," Poe says, the words coming as a gasp. "I remember her face." A laugh bubbles up and out of him, pure relief and joy. It wasn't stolen, it was just broken, and now it's been mended. "Thank you," Poe gasps, reaching for Finn and Rey. "Thank you so much." 

Poe starts crying then, and Finn and Rey both push in closer. Rey's arm clutches at his bicep, and Finn is nearly half in the medbay bed so he can wrap his arms around Poe. Poe laughs and cuddles them both closer. They're his family. They feel like home. His father is his foundation and his mother is his direction and these are the people that have walked the hard road with him.

Poe realizes they're both babbling apologies, Rey for invading his mind, Finn for not realizing how bad things had gotten, and then Rey for not realizing how bad things had gotten, and Finn for the necessity of needing to go into his mind.

Poe can't help but laugh, these ridiculous people, apologizing like they hadn't just performed a miracle. _His_ ridiculous people, he thinks with fond certainty. Poe remembers, then, the things that Finn probably hadn't meant to share while he was trying to knit Poe back together.

_'You touch him so much! Always with a jostling shoulder or a hug or a squeeze of his shoulder! But it never goes further than that, you never, Poe why didn't you ever ... I know this isn't the point but after you wake up again and get done accepting my apology, we are going to talk about why you didn't just kiss me then. There was so much kissing! It would have fit right in.'_

Maybe Finn hadn't meant to share it, but he had, and now his words were woven into the tapestry of Poe, and that meant that as Poe looked for a way to stop Finn's stream of apologies, it was as natural as breathing to lean in and kiss him. He realized about two seconds into the kiss that they probably should have talked first, there's probably a lot of things that should come first, but Finn is pushing up out of his chair and his fingers are weaving through the back of Poe's hair, so Poe figures it wasn't such a terrible idea after all. 

They eventually separate, and Finn looks thrilled and uncertain, glancing between Poe and Rey. Poe twists so he can see Rey, and is relieved to find her grinning broadly. Poe wants to include her in this, but isn't as certain as certain of his welcome, with her. So instead of moving in, he sort of tilts his head and raises his eyebrow, offering an invitation. 

Rey smiles, tilts her own head in response, and starts to lean in. But she leans too far, past him, and steals a kiss from Finn, instead. Finn makes a strangled noise of joy, almost sounding angry at how happy he is. His stunned expression is like a kid on Lifeday who opened up a gift under the tree to find, not what he wanted, but what he didn't even think he could ask for.

Rey gives a satisfied huff, then darts Poe a sideways glance. A moment later her lips brush his, quick but sure. She pulls back again, looking at Poe intently for a moment. Poe nods and she nods too, an unspoken communication between them. Things are more complicated between him and Rey, but they are no less filled with affection.

The three of them, they will figure things out. 

"Should we, um, talk about this?" Finn asks, still looking stunned. 

"Probably," Poe says, drawing his fingers along the back of Finn's neck and enjoying the shiver that results. "But right now I'm feeling talked out." 

"You were in a trance," Rey says with a grin. "Finn did all the talking." 

Poe grins back. "I hope that nobody was actually talking. Would have looked a bit strange, Finn monologuing my deepest secrets over my unconscious form." 

"I wouldn't!" Finn protests, as Rey laughs and says, "That would have been a sight." 

"Alright," Finn says, trying to restore order. "So not talking. What do you want to do?" 

Poe has an idea that involves another bed with more privacy and no words at all. That would be rushing things, though, and he's feeling remarkably patient. The future stretches before him, and Poe is hopeful that there will be plenty of time. 

There are other things he wants to do. He thinks about the Senatorial delegate for the Yavin System, and how meekly terrified he was of making any changes. Poe wonders what his chances of winning an election would be, if he went back home with his hero's smile and plans for change. Poe wonders how many other people he could convince to run. Rose would be dynamite on the senate floor. Lando, too, and Jannah, and—

He wonders how ready the galaxy is to change. He feels ready. He thinks the galaxy might be too. But those are still future plans.

Right now, as he takes a deep breath and feels steady to his core, there's really only one thing he wants to do. "I'd love to get out of here, and spend some time flying." 

Finn and Rey have matching smiles. "Told you," Rey says. 

"I never disagreed!" Finn protests. He turns to Poe. "We've got the Falcon fueled up and ready for a spin. And we're ready to go." 

"Assuming you want us along?" Rey asks. 

Yes. For this, and whatever comes next. Now and always. 

Poe reaches out a hand to each. They help him up. "Of course I do," he says, stealing another kiss from each of them as they make their way out of the medbay. Because he can, because he's welcome to, and because he is so full of hope he can't hold still. 

"Let's fly." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> And thank you for taking a chance on this fic! It was a bit of an odd one! This fic's been kicking around in my head since I watched TRoS and then gradually processed how the sequel trilogy made me feel. I was filled with an unsettled sense that things weren't quite right for just about all the characters, but for some reason Poe's story really nagged at me. My brain kept finding gaps in the narrative it wanted to explore, and so, here we are. 
> 
> This fic is also heavily inspired by the Very Good Hug at the end of TRoS and the feelings that resulted from that, and half inspired by anger for a trilogy that offered me characters with such potential and then didn't quite know what to do with them. A lot of good art comes out of that intersection between irritation and enjoyment, I think :)
> 
> If you want to chat with me, I'm[on Tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sassysnowperson)
> 
> Also, [if you enjoyed it, here's a fancy graphic and fic summary to look at and reblog!](https://sassysnowperson.tumblr.com/post/612720656455434240/you-can-fly-anything-read-on-ao3-poefinnrey)


End file.
